


What You Choose Not to Leave Behind

by Xenobotanist



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, End of Canon Fix-It, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24449293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: An attempt to fix the last scene between Garak and Bashir. You know the one.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 5
Kudos: 96





	What You Choose Not to Leave Behind

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help it. This scene could have been so much more.

“Well, aren’t you going to congratulate me, Doctor? My exile is officially over. I’ve returned home.” Garak stared off for a second. “Or rather, to what’s left of it.”

Julian wouldn’t look at him. “Listen, I-I know that this must seem—”

Garak interrupted. “You know, some may say that we’ve gotten _just_ what we’ve deserved.” He walked over, an intense look on his face. “After all, we’re not _entirely_ innocent, are we? And I’m not speaking of just the _Bajoran_ occupation. No. Our whole history is one of arrogant _aggression,”_ he hissed passionately, stepping up to Julian’s shoulder. “We’ve collaborated with the Dominion, _betrayed_ the entire Alpha Quadrant…” he took a deep breath. “Oh, no…no…there’s no doubt about it. We are _guilty_ as charged.” His voice dripped with loathing. He swept around the doctor, who still hadn’t looked up.

“You and I know that the Cardassians are a strong people,” Julian said, his head bobbing. “They’ll survive. _Cardassia_ will survive.” He’d seen Garak’s spirt die and be reborn time and again. The man’s resiliency never failed to impress.

But he hadn’t even finished before Garak was laughing cynically. “ _Please,_ Doctor. Spare me your insufferable Federation optimism. _Of course_ it’ll survive.” Their shoulders touched, but neither acknowledged it. “But _not_ as the Cardassia I knew.” Julian frowned. “We had a _rich_ … and ancient culture; our music, literature, art—were second-to-none. Now…” he said breathlessly, circling back to the other side. “So much of it is _lost_. So many of our best people…our most… _gifted_ minds…” he trailed off, his expression bleak.

Julian took the chance to put his hand on Garak’s shoulder as the other man stared ahead in mute disbelief and pain. “I’m sorry, Garak,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean—”

And he was stopped again. “Oh it’s…” Garak shook his head. “It’s quite alright, Doctor,” he said, turning so that the hand fell away but they were both facing each other, so close and yet so far. Their eyes met, held. Then Julian looked down. “You’ve been such a good friend,” Garak pronounced, drawing his gaze back up. “I’m going to _miss_ our lunches together.” His smile was unexpected, but fond. And genuine. It was a truth; one that he could afford to share.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” Julian tried to smile and failed, eyes half closed as if he couldn’t bear to see what he knew was coming.

“I’d _like_ to think so.” Garak tilted his head to the side. “But one can never say.” He rested his hand on Julian’s shoulder, resisting the urge to squeeze and never let go. “We live in uncertain times.”

Julian’s gaze flicked up, blinked, and jerked back down. Garak’s hand slid from shoulder to arm, then away as he walked past the doctor. Toward the exit. Toward a new life. One that would be full of more pain and suffering. Struggling. Despair. Hadn’t he had enough of that already? Something broke inside Julian. He pounded the console in front of him. “Dammit Garak!” His chest felt heavy, making his voice deeper than normal, and ragged. It was as if the gravity had increased tenfold, and was threatening to crush him under the weight of years of unspoken sentiments.

Garak paused at the door, turning only slightly, in wait for an explanation of the outburst. He saw Julian bent over the console, leaning on both hands, chest heaving. The posture was one of distress, but underlying that was tense anger. Unsure of what he’d done to provoke such a response, he completed his turn so that he was now facing the direction from which he’d come. Julian’s right hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles turning white. He stood up straight, and with augmented strength and speed that Garak hadn’t anticipated, shoved the Cardassian into the wall. Hard. “Is that all you have to say?!” he yelled, face red.

“Well Doctor, really. What would you _have_ me say?” Garak asked coolly, face impassive. This was not the place, and it was most definitely not the time.

Julian’s eyes narrowed. “Of course. Even now. You couldn’t ever say anything meaningful, could you? Just bland pleasantries,” he spat. “Fine. Be that way. Goodbye, Garak. Have a lovely life.” He stalked away, unwilling to remain one more moment in the company of someone capable of inflicting both joy and pain concurrently.

Before he’d even consciously made the decision to do so, Garak was hurrying after him. No. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. They were supposed to part amicably. What had gone wrong?

Julian’s quick stride had already carried him into the corridor, and he chased after the swiftly retreating figure. “Doctor! Julian!” At the sound of his name, the man stopped. Garak rushed up, only to find that he didn’t know what to say. He tentatively reached out, just above Julian’s elbow. “I don’t want to end things like this. I want us to part on courteous terms, so that we can remember one another fondly.” His voice broke. “I couldn’t stand leaving, knowing that you were cross with me.”

“But you _are_ leaving Garak. Alone. Always alone.” Julian sounded tired, bitter. He still faced down the hall, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Well, yes, Doctor. Who would come with me?” He regretted it as soon as it left his mouth.

The face that whipped to look at him broke his already fractured heart. It wasn’t fair. One cannot have two loves.

“Who, Garak? How about the companion you’ve had for the past seven years? The person you’ve had hundreds of lunches with. The person who has shared _everything_ with you, stood by you, _accepted_ you, no matter what others thought? No matter what you even thought of yourself.” Julian pressed his lips together, glaring at the floor as if it was the cause for his ire. He barreled on. “After Leeta, how many more relationships did I have? How many people did I sleep with?”

Garak lifted his chin, but didn’t reply.

“How _many_ , Garak?”

“You _grew_ , Doctor. You matured. Part of being an adult is learning to live without constant attention and affection. You learned how to stand on your own two feet, without needing the reassurance of another person _validating_ your existence.” And how proud he’d been to witness the transformation.

Julian’s mouth turned down as he took that in. There was some veracity to the claim. He bowed his head. “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.” He shrugged off the hand that hadn’t let go of his arm. Internally, he raged at himself. He’d often berated Garak for his endless obfuscation, his refusal to speak plainly. And yet, here he was himself, not daring to speak his emotions.

Garak drew in a gusty sigh and studied a support column behind Julian. He wouldn’t look. He couldn’t look. “Regardless, Doctor, I believe it was for the best.”

Julian leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the floor. His lanky knees folded up in front of him. “How can you court me for _years_ and then just walk away? All the lunches, the debates, the gifts…” he gestured outward with his hand, “the…the touches.” His mind ran through a dozen scenarios. A brush of the hand, a small press in the center of the back, standing shoulder to shoulder, leaning on one another, so close they could smell and taste each other’s breath. “Garak, I _know_ how very serious that is to a Cardassian.” On the Defiant, he’d even stepped it up a notch, pressing against his friend nearly non-stop when in his presence, unable to deny himself that one small comfort amidst such a volatile and miserable war.

Garak slowly lowered himself to the floor, folding his legs under him and settling on his knees gingerly. “Doctor. I was one Cardassian on a station that is predominantly Humans and Bajorans. Surely by those standards, our relationship was undeniably platonic.” His insides twisted at the falsehood; it had never been platonic.

Julian bent even farther forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his palms. “It wasn’t for me.” His fingers tightened in his hair, pulling. The pain helped unravel the knot in his stomach. “I love you, Garak,” he mumbled into his lap.

Saying it and hearing it aloud suffused him with a feeling of warmth. Solidity. He dropped his hands. “I love you, _Elim.”_ This time, when he looked up and into those blue eyes, he didn’t look away.

The face staring back was a blank mask. It might have been shock.

He adjusted his position, so that he was kneeling in front of Garak, mirroring the Cardassian. “You’re not alone. You haven’t been for years now, and you don’t have to be in the future.” He waited.

And waited.

He could see the wheels turning. He could practically hear the denials, the excuses, forming and falling away. But he remained quiet. It was not usual for the man in front of him to be rendered speechless. The corners of his mouth threatened to tug upward. His speech hadn’t been rebuffed. Coming from Garak, that was practically an acceptance.

Tentatively, he reached his hands out and placed them over Garak’s.

“I…I don’t have anything to offer you,” his friend said quietly. He studied their hands but didn’t remove his.

Julian fought the urge to wrap him up in an embrace. “I don’t care.”

“I don’t have a home. Food.” He furrowed his brow. “Doctor, at this point, I don’t think I can even promise you _clean air to breathe.”_

“Well, what were _you_ going to do?”

Garak took in a shallow breath. “Head for my childhood home. Build with whatever is left. Scavenge for furniture and home goods.” His gaze lost focus. “Gather information from anyone I used to know and is still left, I suppose.” Lost in his head, he gained steam. “Plant a garden so that I can grow my own food. I should talk to Professor O'Brien about cuttings and seeds.”

Julian felt his heart begin to swell as he observed the transformation taking place in the man before him. The indomitable will of a Cardassian. “I could help you, you know. I can help you clear land for a home and garden. I happen to be quite strong, so I can help you retrieve materials and build. And Garak, you’re forgetting that I’m a _doctor_. Think of what I could do there. For them. For you. For _Cardassia.”_ He scooted closer until their knees bumped. “And you wouldn’t have to go it alone.”

A faintly amused face looked up into his. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve thought over this before.”

“Once or twice.” Or fifty times.

“What about Starfleet?”

Julian looked up towards the ceiling, then back down. “I joined Starfleet to help people. To make a difference in the galaxy. And Garak, look at what I’ve done. I’ve cured incurable diseases. I’ve saved an entire planet. I’ve made over a dozen scientific and medical discoveries. Imagine what I could do for the Union.”

It was the first time he’d referred to it as so. It caused a sharp flutter in Garak’s chest, hearing such a beloved term from such a beloved mouth.

He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to wake up every morning to a blasted landscape filled with dust and death, to fight for food, to scrape for survival…only to have no comfort, no one to share the pain. And the victories, which would come in time. Yes, the glory of Cardassia was his finest and longest-held dream. But once, years ago…he had dreamt of love, too.

“Doctor…” he hardly dared speak.

“It’s _Julian_.”

“Julian, my dear.” He shuddered. “You make a compelling argument.”

“And are you going to debate it? Tell me I’m wrong and enumerate the ways in which my reasoning is flawed?”

He was greeted with a dry chuff that was almost a laugh. “I fear that doing so would be a lost cause. You do tend to steam forward regardless of what anyone says, once you have your mind put toward something.”

Julian’s eyes twinkled. He tucked his fingers under Garak’s hands so that his thumbs could rub reassuringly as he squeezed. “You do know me so well.”

“I don’t suppose fighting you will do much good, then.”

“None at all.”

“Well then.”

They stared at each other.

“Stay for a few more days, Elim. Give me time to wrap things up here. And I can call in a few favors. I’ll get my hands on medical supplies, replicators, water purifiers.”

Garak shook his head minutely. “I want to be on the next transport out. I have been so long absent from Cardassia that I can’t stay away any longer.” He stared into Julian’s face, trying to emphasize his sincerity. “But you may follow when you are ready.”

Barely breathing, Julian asked, “And how will I find you?”

“I’ll find you, my dear doctor.”

Julian had faith that he could. He pushed forward until their faces were so close that he had to turn slightly or risk bumping noses. “There may be hope for you yet.” And closed the distance.

…

Captain Sisko strode through the complex to where he was supposed to meet Dr. Bashir. They had so much to do.

Before he reached his destination, he caught sight of two figures in the distance. The were embracing on the floor, quite passionately, although not indecently. Thank the Prophets for small favors. He quickened his pace, ready to order them to find a room.

As he drew nearer, the figures sharpened into familiar shapes, one gray and one tan. They were wrapped around each other as if nothing else in the universe existed, hands stroking and faces nuzzling in absolute adoration.

It wasn’t completely unexpected, he mused.

Ben sighed and shook his head, then turned around to find another task. It was going to take a while to locate a new Chief Medical Officer.

…

Oblivious to the almost-interruption, Elim and Julian hugged as tightly as possible, loathe to separate, even if only for a few days.

Finally, practicality and sore legs won out. They pulled back.

“Garak! Are you…crying?”

“Of course not,” his love replied, looking only vaguely affronted. “Cardassians have no tear ducts.”

“My mistake,” Julian muttered, absently petting the slick black hair beneath his fingers. “Those most be my tears on your face.”

“Oh yes, my dear,” Garak whispered. “Every one of them is yours.”


End file.
